Authors: Deborah Bladon
By: Deborah Bladon
First Original Edition, July 2014
Copyright © 2014 by Deborah Bladon
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and situations either are the product of the author's imagination or are used factiously.
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the author.
"You're staring at my dick."
I am. I can't even deny it. I guess I can come up with some excuse. Maybe I can pretend to be my best friend, Sadie, and say that I'm studying to be a doctor and I'm doing a thorough, visual exam of his enormous, erect penis. Who answers the door naked? He must have been masturbating. Do people do that? Do they masturbate while they wait for a sandwich to be delivered?
"Sweetheart. Up here." His hand floats past his crotch and my eyes slowly drift along with it, like I'm a fish dangling on a hook.
"What?" My voice isn't my own. I sound all breathy and aroused.
"How much?" He motions towards me and I reel myself back into the reality of the moment. After I finished my dinner with Sadie and her husband, I offered to deliver the sandwich for them when their regular delivery guy went home sick. Knowing the owner of Axel Boston certainly had its perks. I got a free dinner and now this. No tip required at all. Thank you, sir with the naked cock.
"You already paid," I say as I try to keep my gaze focused on his dark brown eyes. The hair on his head almost matches the color of his eyes, which matches the hair that surrounds his…
"No." He walks towards a large round table in the foyer of his apartment. Technically, it's the penthouse since I had to ride the elevator with the doorman and his special key. I wonder what this guy does for a living that affords him the luxury of living here. Maybe he's a porn star. "What's your name, sweetheart?"
"Alexa," I offer. "What's your name?"
He turns quickly as he stops dead in his tracks. I was admiring his perfectly sculpted ass until he turned back around and now I get to stare at his cock again. I might have to take that job delivering sandwiches after all.
"My name is none of your fucking business," he barks at me.
I take a step back when I realize that I've offended him. The fact that I'm practically drooling all over his naked body doesn't bother him at all, but when I ask his name he flips out? I'll just pretend that I can't hear him and use the rest of the time at the door to soak in his body before I go home and tease myself for hours until I…
"How much?" His voice interrupts me yet again and I wonder now if maybe he doesn't understand English.
"I said," I speak loudly and slowly. "You. Already. Paid. For. It."
"Get your pretty little ass in here." He grabs me by my arm and yanks me into his apartment. I turn and stare as the door flies shut behind me.
"I have plans." I tap my black stiletto impatiently on the marble floor. I was supposed to drop off this sandwich and then meet some sorority sisters for a welcome back party. This is only my second night back in Boston after being in Paris for months. I need some good, old-fashioned American fun.
"You're going to bail because of it, aren't you?" He turns and stares right through me. "I'm paying you to fuck me. It's going to be worth it, Alexa."
"What?" I steal one more glance at his cock before I decide that being called a two-bit floozy isn't worth the chance to get fucked by that. "What the hell is your problem?"
"Women like you always bolt when they see it." His voice is deep and low. It bites right through me. "The agency said you'd be fine with it when I requested a blonde."
"I brought you a sandwich." I throw the bag at him and it bounces off his muscular chest before it falls to the marble floor. "Your hooker isn't here yet. I'm not her."
"You brought me a sandwich?" He stares at the crumpled mess on the floor. "I thought you were someone else."
"Obviously," I shoot back as I turn on my heel to leave. "For the record, I wouldn't bolt seeing a cock like that normally."
"I wasn't talking about my dick," he growls.
I pivot back and stare at him. "What then?"
"The scar," he hisses as he tilts his head back. "Women always run when they see the scar."
"What scar?" I've stared at his cock long enough to realize that it's perfect and scar free.
"This scar." His hand jumps to his face before his index finger traces a line down a scar running the length of his cheek.
"Is that why you walk around with your cock flying every which way?" I turn the doorknob in my hand. "It's a good tactic."
"Alexa," he says my name just as I'm stepping over the threshold into the hallway. "Stay."
"Excuse me?" I suck in a tight, fast breath. "I told you I'm not your hooker."
As if on cue, the elevator chimes its arrival. I turn to look, half expecting to see a slut with an over-the-top back-combed blonde wig, blue eye shadow and a leopard print mini skirt stepping off. I'm stunned by the beautiful woman who thanks the doorman before her eyes lock with mine. She's petite, elegantly dressed and her hair is cut into a fashionable blonde bob.
"There are two of you?" The British lilt in her voice makes her that much more attractive. I guess I shouldn't have taken such strong offense at being called a call girl. I thought I looked hot tonight, but next to her I look like a rank amateur. The short black halter dress I have on pales in comparison to the tailored red shift dress she's wearing.
"No." I shake my head a little too vigorously. "I'm not part of this. I'm leaving."
"That's a shame." Her brown eyes run slowly over my body and I realize that she's game for just about anything. I'm not. The only game I want to play tonight involves my battery operated boyfriend and mental images of the naked man she's about to jump into bed with. Three is definitely a crowd for me.
"Wait." His low voice is edged with a plea. "I want to ask you something."
"Are you talking to me or blue eyes?" The beautiful blonde's eyes narrow as she turns towards our naked host. Blue eyes? I've been called a host of things in my life but that's a new one. Given the fact that our body shapes, hair color and height are almost on par, I guess the one distinguishing factor is our eye color. Good on her for noticing a small detail like that when there's a loose cock in the room.
"You can go." He pushes past her and walks out into the hallway to where I'm standing next to the now closed elevator. I have to give the doorman props for not reacting at all when he caught sight of the resident of the penthouse without any clothing. He didn't bat an eyelash as he stood silently watching the doors close before the lift whizzed back down to the lobby. Maybe it's a regular occurrence here. Maybe I need to look for an apartment in this building. The only men I've seen naked in my building are the ones I bring home. I can't say any of them have been as memorable as this man.
"You pay whether or not you play." Her accent has suddenly vanished in wake of his dismissal.
He casts his eyes down at her before he grabs my arm. "Alexa, come back in inside."
"Is that your real name? Are you new?" His scheduled companion for the evening is full of questions that I don't want to answer. "Who do you work for?"
Is she serious? That’s the second time tonight I've been mistaken for a prostitute. "I don't…" I trail as I search the air for what should come next. I don't turn tricks? I don't sleep with men for money? I don't know how I ended up talking to a gorgeous naked man and a call girl?
"How much?" he barks at her as he guides me back into his apartment.
"Fifteen hundred and a generous tip
are always appreciated." Her perfectly manicured hand dashes out in front of her to wait for the offering.
"A tip?" He rifles through a drawer in the foyer table and pulls out a sizeable wad of cash. "You didn't even strip."
"I can change that," she purrs as she turns in front of me. "Blue eyes, unzip me."
I take a step back. I'm not touching her or her overpriced dress. I reach into my clutch for my smartphone. Maybe if I appear busy these two will keep their bartering to themselves. The only message I have waiting for me is one from Sadie, thanking me again for delivering the sandwich. I should be the one thanking her.
"Keep your clothes on." His voice is thick and measured. "Here's your money."
She gleefully scoops the money into her palm and turns to walk out the still open door of his apartment. "Thanks, baby and for the record, I love tattoos."
Tattoos. He's covered in them. My eyes have been so focused on his now half erect cock that I haven't given myself a chance to soak in the beauty of the art that covers his chest, back and arms. Each design is intricate, balanced and striking. He's perfect.
"I'm Noah Foster." It's a declaration that catches me off guard.
"I'm Alexa Jackson," I counter even though I know he already knows my first name. I want to hear him say it again. I love the growl that escapes from deep within him when he speaks.
"The Noah Foster." His brow furrows as he stresses the words.
"The Noah Foster?" I repeat unsure if he's trying to sound completely narcissistic or if I'm misinterpreting.
He only nods in response.
"I need to go the Noah Foster." I'll play his game. For this being only my second night back in Boston, it's been one of the most memorable in all my twenty-two years. "I have plans."
"You're not the regular delivery person." He leans back against the door of his apartment, and crosses his muscular arms across his chest. He's impressive and he knows it. He's definitely more than six feet tall. If I had to venture a guess based on the height of my heels, I'd say he's hovering right around the six foot four inch mark. That's almost a full foot taller than me.
The regular delivery person is an elderly man named Bernie. I'd met him months ago when Sadie introduced me to him. "Bernie is sick," I say while I'm trying desperately to keep my eyes fixed to his ridiculously handsome face.
"You're the stand in?" He nods at me. "That's quite the improvement."
I smile slightly at the odd compliment. He doesn't strike me as the type of man who eagerly hands out accolades to just anyone. "I was doing a friend a favor."
"If you don't deliver food, what do you do?" The question comes with a subtle proposition. He's actually interested in what I do? Or maybe he's still hell bent on me being his fuck buddy for the night. Everything about him screams control and expectation.
"I'm a teacher," I say the words with pride. I am a teacher. It's taken me years to accomplish my goal of getting a degree in education. I'm close now. I'm just one semester away from graduating.
"You're a teacher?" His gaze rakes over me lazily. "I don't know another teacher that looks like you."
My eyes float from his face down to his groin and then back up again. "Your loss."
A sly grin pulls at the corner of his mouth. "Let's get to the point."
"The point?" I parrot back. "What point?"
"Do you know who I am?" he asks without any hesitation in his voice at all.
"Yes." I sigh. This guy's confidence is bursting out of every pore in his rock hard body. It's no wonder though. He's what women dream about when they're home alone. "You're the Noah Foster."
His eyes brighten as his full lips part in a broad smile. "You have no idea, do you?"
I feel like the timid mouse in a game of chase with a big, bad, bold cat. "About?" I ask expectantly. He must be somebody beyond a guy who walks around buck naked all the time. Since he hasn't been on one of the
Internet gossip sites I frequent a lot, he's a nobody to me. Correction, he's a gorgeous nobody with a ridiculously appealing dick.
"Who I am," he volleys back calmly. "You seriously don't know who I am?"
I take a step back feeling as though I need to make room for his massive ego. "No," I answer firmly. "Who are you?"
He shakes his head slightly before he brushes past me. "Do you have any tattoos, Alexa?" The way he ignores my question pulls on my frustration. I should fish my smartphone back out of my purse and Google him on the spot. Is he a tattoo artist? That would make sense given the beautiful artwork he's proudly displaying all over his ripe, aching-to-be-licked body.
"Tattoos?" I ask. Did that sound as naïve as I think it did? When did I become such a muttering idiot? I've seen naked men before. I've seen men with tattoos before. Why is my brain bouncing around so much? Why can't I seem at least vaguely intelligent right now?
He's directly in front of me now and I can smell the musky combination of his skin and whatever cologne he's slathered all over his body. His eyes drop straight to the top of my breasts. They're pushed so tightly together it's a wonder I can even breathe. "Is any of this beautiful body of yours covered with ink?"
I exhale sharply as his index finger lightly brushes across my neck. "I don't have any of those. No tattoos." I wince inside when I say it. I've never wanted one. What if he thinks that my unmarked body isn't up to par with what he wants? Why the hell do I care?
"Have you modelled?" His warm breath skirts over my skin as he leans even closer. It's taking every ounce of willpower I have not to reach out to grab hold of his dick.
"What?" Please repeat the question I almost whisper or stop talking and fuck me instead.
"Have you ever done any modeling?" He pivots back on his heel now and I instantly feel as though the room has been deluged with an abundance of oxygen. I can breathe. I can think again.
"Why?" Answering a question with a question is something I retrieve from my bag of lame tricks whenever I feel overwhelmed by a man. It doesn't happen often, but let's face it; the Noah Foster isn't your everyday kind of man.
"You're gorgeous." His lips curl into another dazzling smile. "I've been looking for someone just like you."
My libido jumps at the announcement. Wait? He's been looking for someone just like me? As in, a woman with long blonde hair and blue eyes who apparently looks like a hooker who delivers sandwiches? "For what?" I raise a brow. If I don't ask, I'm never going to know.
"For my next project."
I lick my lips wondering if his next project involves me getting as naked as he still is. "What kind of project?"
The shrill bite of a ringing phone cuts through the space. "I have to get that." He turns to walk down the hallway towards what looks like a multitude of doorways. "Wait right there."
I use the momentary reprieve to fetch my own phone from my bag and pull open the browser. If I'm lucky I can get in a quick search of who the Noah Foster is before he comes bouncing back down the marble corridor towards me. My knees buckle, my heart pounds and my entire body flushes as I scan the results. This is a world I have absolutely no interest in. My mother taught me not to be impolite but there's no way in hell I'm sticking around to say goodbye to him.